


What if I told you...

by orphan_account



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Daddy Kink, I'm Sorry Victor Hugo, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-23
Updated: 2015-09-23
Packaged: 2018-04-23 01:57:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,208
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4858784
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Courfeyrac tells Combeferre about something he wants. This works out to Combeferre's advantage.</p><p>(I'm sorry this is basically just daddy kink Courferre porn SO)</p>
            </blockquote>





	What if I told you...

“Uh, ‘Ferre, could we maybe, um.”

 

Fuck. It’s not like Courfeyrac has ever had a problem talking about sex with Combeferre before. He was totally cool that time Combeferre told him he wanted to handcuff him while he sucked him off. He definitely didn’t mind that. Or that time Combeferre started wondering if he had a thing for crossdressing (which it turns out he does not, unless it’s just Courfeyrac in panties. Nothing fancy. Courfeyrac likes that about him.)

 

Right _now_ though, he’s having a lot of trouble talking about sex; and Combeferre is looking at him with that bemused, begrudgingly interested look with one eyebrow raised and Courfeyrac can’t stop blushing. This is ridiculous, he shouldn’t even have brought it up.

 

“This is ridiculous, I shouldn’t even have brought it up.”

 

Combeferre doesn’t say anything, just raises the eyebrow even further. Courfeyrac hates him so much.

 

“Okay fine. I just. Uh..” Courfeyrac can’t even think of anything to tell him but the truth. “I kind of have. A thing.”

 

“A thing.” Combeferre deadpans.

 

“Fuck you, yeah. An, um. A sexy thing. Well, like, you might not find it sexy. A lot of people don’t. Fuck.”

 

“...Courf, do you want me to piss on you?” Combeferre says after a second, with that stupid grin of his.

 

“No, ‘Ferre seriously. This is hard.” Courfeyrac pouts. He really doesn’t mean to pout. “Do you even want to hear it or will I just shut up and blow you?”

 

“Well…”

 

“I think I have a daddy kink.”

 

“ _What?_ ”

 

“What.”

 

Combeferre doesn’t say anything more for a second, just leans back a bit on the couch, making the leather creak. Courfeyrac takes a deep breath and tries to slow down his heart rate by sheer force of will.

 

“Did you say daddy kink?”

 

Courfeyrac laughs, accidentally sounding a little hysterical. He just nods. Oh God. Wait.

 

“‘Ferre, are you hard?!”

 

“I, uh.”

 

Courfeyrac scrambles over the couch and lands heavily in ‘Ferre’s lap. Combeferre tries to complain, but Courfeyrac is already kissing him, pushing him back against the couch cushions. Combeferre places wet, open-mouthed kisses along Courfeyrac’s jaw, his tongue rough against his 5 o’clock shadow. He stops by his ear, biting gently around his earlobe. Courfeyrac can barely breathe.

 

"I’m going to fuck you," He says, so softly Courfeyrac thinks he imagined it. It isn't phrased like a question, and Courfeyrac doesn't know if he could have answered it if it was. Combeferre is waiting, though, kind of still.

 

“Fuck," Courfeyrac manages. "Yes."

 

Combeferre pulls back from Courfeyrac’s neck and grabs his hips, lifting them both off the couch and walking him backwards into the dining table. It’s kind of new. They’ve only eaten at it once.

He drops his hands to the edge of the table, on either side of Courfeyrac’s hips, trapping him against it and kissing up his neck. Courfeyrac tips his head back, giving him better access.

 

“Yes who?” Combeferre mutters, sliding one hand up the edge of Courfeyrac’s shirt.

 

Courfeyrac shivers. “What?”

 

Combeferre just sighs, lifting Courfeyrac’s t-shirt up and over his head, but keeping it around his wrists. He trails one hand back down his stomach, fingernails dragging through the hair on his navel and over his jeans to palm at his dick. “Yes, who?” he asks again, impatiently.

 

Courfeyrac seriously can’t fucking breathe. “Y-yes, Daddy.”

 

He hears Combeferre hiss out a breath before he’s being flipped around, bent over the table with his hips pressed hard against the wooden edge and his t-shirt trapping his hands together in front of him. He opens his mouth to complain, but all that he really manages is a stifled moan when Combeferre grazes his fingernails down his bare back and along his sides.

 

Combeferre doesn’t waste any time undoing the buttons on Courfeyrac’s jeans, just grabs them by the belt hoops and yanks them down, making Courfeyrac kick them off his feet while he fumbles around the sideboard drawer for lube. Courfeyrac feels kind of dumb, bent over their table naked while Combeferre is fully dressed and _not_ fucking him. He also feels kinda hot.

 

Combeferre eventually comes back up behind him, wrapping one hand around his hip and uncapping the lube with the other.

 

“You’re so fucking hot, you’re such a good boy. Look at you.” he murmurs, placing a kiss on the back of Courfeyrac’s shoulder and liberally coating his fingers with lube. “I’m so proud of you.”

 

Courfeyrac jumps when his fingers trail down the cleft of his ass, partly because they’re really fucking cold. But that doesn’t matter when Combeferre starts opening him up, really fucking slowly. It’s ridiculously satisfying, from the first moment Combeferre presses a finger in. He’s got these stupidly long fingers, but they’re also kind of skinny, and by the time he’s worked in a third one Courfeyrac is making noises he can't recognize, barely formed words, gasps and whimpers. Combeferre moves his free hand off Courfeyrac’s hip and puts it on the back of his head, pushing his face into the wooden surface of the table. It doesn’t hurt. It just makes Courfeyrac even more fucking horny.

 

“You’re so hot,” He hears Combeferre say softly. Courfeyrac’s dick fucking aches. “I can’t wait to fuck you.”

 

Courfeyrac lets out an ungodly noise. “‘Ferre, yeah, Daddy, please” he pants, hands scrambling on the table surface for some kind of purchase. He balls his fists in his tshirt. “Please--”

 

"Yeah," Combeferre echoes, and then he's reaching for the condom, slicking himself up ( _God_ , Courfeyrac thinks, _God God God_ ) and then he's sliding in, so slowly that Courfeyrac clenches his fists until his knuckles go white.

 

Combeferre picks up the pace and starts fucking into him hard, making the table press harshly into Courfeyrac’s hips with every thrust. Courfeyrac knows he isn’t going to last long. He doesn’t care though, just lets his mouth hang open and ‘Ferre press his face into the table while he fucks him. This is maybe the hottest thing that has ever happened to him.

 

When he comes it’s almost a surprise, Combeferre fucks him just right on one thrust and then Courfeyrac is coming, panting breathlessly and clenching around Combeferre’s cock. Combeferre doesn’t stop, he just fucks into him harder, his rhythm becoming more erratic, and he takes his hand out of Courfeyrac’s hair and grabs his hips with both his hands. Heat's coming off his skin in waves and he's letting out low moans that Courfeyrac wants to remember forever.

 

"So fucking hot, Courf, hottest fucking thing ever, fuck." He chokes out, and then he’s coming, slowing down and slumping on top of Courfeyrac, breathless.

 

It takes a couple of minutes for them to catch their breath. Combeferre eventually lifts himself of Courfeyrac, turning him back around and cupping his cheek, nudging his mouth with his own. “You have the best ideas.” He says, happily, pressing a kiss to the corner of Courfeyrac’s mouth.

 

Courfeyrac still feels pretty fucking dazed, and his hips are kind of sore. He leans into Combeferre and wraps his arms around his neck. “We can never have dinner parties at this table.” He mutters.

  
Combeferre just laughs and kisses Courfeyrac again. “I think it would make for some interesting conversation.”


End file.
